How The Hurting Feels

–Like A Rolling Stone – Bob Dylan.

When mighty winds blow through the cracks in your window panes that eerily echoes throughout the empty room that send shivers down your spine as you are alone with your hurt. A heart once so filled with love is suddenly broken. When joy is just a memory. You can hear all and touch all but no tender loving touch is there to be given back.

Each new day is wrought with an abundance of no. Nothing seems good or right anymore. You have fallen into the depths of despondency with nobody waiting to pull you out. That is how the hurting feels. You are alone now. You are surrounded by make-believe people who do not know that you know what they really are. This is what life has been reduced to. Each cause has an effect while each effect has a cause but are they are yours to keep if you want them. To need is to want while wanting is not for the need.

Physically fine you may be but the pain is all around. It lurks behind every corner waiting to claim you for all its own. There isn’t a door without a creek you can walk through with cobwebs dangling from them cradling themselves into your unwashed matted hair for you to escape from your whole-owned hurt. You care not of how you look in your shredded urine stained clothes that wreak from a deadly consortium of stenches. What you have perceived of yourself is not the reality of the physical person but nonetheless, this is how the hurting feels.

Did you give a dam about that person YOU kicked down the crooked street casting his dignity asunder as where he is now will soon be where you are? A world too big to care as it has better things to do with its time than become betrothed on to you. Bloodthirsty masses lusted after you clinging to your every sneer of unrighteous discourse you espoused. But now the shoemakers’ unfinished shoe with soles not yet sewn are fixtures on your feet. You didn’t know how the hurting felt but now my friend you do. Now my friend you do!

How does this hurting feel when you have nothing but hurt to feast upon? See the sores from the open wounds oozing unceasingly. Who might not have noticed in the darkness of night the disparaging plight of a man who can never be again or a woman left lonely from an empty womb? Not the words from the mouth that matters which don’t really matter anyhow. It shalt be those words from a ne’er-do-well are only those that will matter most.

What is it for the longing to be cherished, cared for and loved that eludes you now. It once existed. It can exist again. Your empathy has been courted to give sympathy to the orchestras of the needy to put them on the mend. How can it be left to a person to live alone so he could die by himself alone? Can it be tried to disrupt this almost pre-determined destiny so the hurt can set forth on its way clear to not hurt anymore? Help let the hurt not hurt anyone anymore.

Life orbits in and around itself often showing just one side as does the moon as it revolves around the earth and the earth around the sun. The valleys of life can have craters deeper than any on the moon. How we hold to the respecting of those around us as well as those who live within us so shall be what may become of some us. Lifeless is the shadows of the moon while lifeless may lay the hurting who have been hunted down who are henceforth hunkered down. Walk-up take a look with your own steely cold blue eyes wide open peek behind the dilated pupils so as to stare into the vacuum that exists but remember “It’s funny when you get that close, it’s kind of hard to hate.”-The Night That Made America Famous-Harry Chapin. You don’t know what you’ve seen until you’ve seen it. You don’t know what you’ve felt until you’ve really felt it. You do not know what is you know until you’ve gotten to know it.

When we let go of life we let go of that which is most precious. There are hands wrinkled with age though they may be but the strength of determination to help you hold on they will extend outward to you to pull you out of the sewer you were living in. These are the people from the other side of life. They breathe air brimming with sunshine. They exhale the exuberance of being alive with the lives of the living.

We do not live in a comfy cocoon that is a utopian society. Nor is the Age of Aquarius a reality that will ever be. Hurting is from hurt inflicted by others, circumstances or you yourself. Hurting tells you something is wrong albeit in absentia of an all-encompassing fix it manually. The author of such is not in existence. None amongst us can say they have never experienced hurt or the feelings it provokes. Living in denial of ever having been hurt or to of felt the sting from its tentacles is living a life of lies. Liars who know of only lies will likely victimize others to give the legitimacy they desperately need for themselves.

Torrential rains will fall. Snow squalls will obliterate everything from your sight. Lighting as if shot from a bow and arrow will cut through trees like butter. Blasts of thunder will shake you to tremble while uprooting your foundation. These are the reverberations from the revolt of those who know only of hurt inspired by others. What else would we expect of them? The fiery furnaces that burned within them have now erupted into black volcanic ashes. If only this could be averted. From the homeless man, the barren woman, legions of scorned lovers, animals left to die to in forests or on slabs of concrete with no tombstone to prove they existed as they will all one day lay restlessly beneath the earth. In possession of what above could be would, you now dare to destroy a dream of a someone who has nothing else to hope for or turn to for the relief.

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed-to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

–The Statue of Liberty Poem.